


Light for John

by SherlockDreadsNaught



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:26:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockDreadsNaught/pseuds/SherlockDreadsNaught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU based on the simple premise of what if John Watson had gone out that fateful night, instead of staying home with Sherlock as Mycroft asked him to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

(Understandably, in my mind this played out longer, but in the interest of time and sanity, I made it into a one off)

When Mycroft relented and retracted his “No” to John saying he had plans for the evening, little did he or any of them know what a string of events would come cascading down upon them.  John did indeed go out for the evening with Jeanette, and Sherlock came home to an empty flat after identifying the dead body of Irene Adler.  Mycroft was right, it was a binge night, for straight away Sherlock hung up his coat and pulled out his stash of drugs.  When John came home at 3AM, he found a very strung out and barely conscious Sherlock lying on the floor.  The ambulance came promptly, accompanied as it seemed by Mycroft.

“You should have rung me instead, John,” Mycroft said with even more frost to his tone than was normal. “I’ll take it from here. My brother will no longer trouble your days or your life. I apologize, I should have done this much sooner.  The flat will be paid for, so please make it your home.”  With that, Mycroft turned and marched out of the flat, following the paramedics who had gathered Sherlock onto a stretcher to get him down the steps to the waiting ambulance.

********

True to his word, Mycroft did not allow Sherlock to return to Baker Street but instead entered him into the best rehab facility in all of England.  Mrs. Hudson was paid handsomely for the flat, from which all of Sherlock’s belongings were removed by a very efficient team of movers.  When Sherlock finished rehab, he then moved into the family mansion with Mycroft. Only once did he ask about John, and was promptly informed that John had moved on with his life, had met a lovely woman, was to be married, and it seemed they were happily living at Baker Street.  That was met with a curt nod from Sherlock, although Mycroft apparently didn’t see the look of sadness in his eyes, and he once again plunged himself into the business of being the world’s only consulting detective.

********

“Oh good, here we go again,” Anderson sneered just as Sherlock was ready to deliver his deductions to Inspector Lestrade. “Please do enlighten us.”

Instead of ignoring Anderson, Sherlock spun to face him, his eyes flashing with suppressed anger. “Come off it, Anderson, you’ve watched me work for nearly 7 years now. You know how I work; you know I’m right, so why don’t you just shut up!”

Before Lestrade could intervene, Sally Donovan uttered the word FREAK loudly enough for all to hear.  Perhaps he’d heard that once too often from her, perhaps he had just reached his boiling point, but whatever the case, Sherlock became even more rigid, set a look of pure determination on his face, and strode away. He paused by Lestrade long enough to hiss at him, “I have had enough. I have been called freak far too many times. This case is yours to solve, but I will tell you right now, you are looking at the wrong place and the wrong people. Goodbye, Lestrade.”

********

“Are you just going to sit around and mope, Sherlock?”

“What will you have me do, Mycroft? Follow you to work, maybe get a job there?”

“Well, at least it would get you out of the house and have some contact with people.” One eyebrow arched alarmingly when Sherlock got up, grabbed his coat and left the house silently.

********

John grabbed for the phone without opening his eyes. Bullocks, it had to be late, or early as the case may be. “Mmm…hello….”

“John,” it was Mycroft’s voice, “It’s Sherlock. Some passersby found him in a park. It’s not good, I’m afraid.”

********

John stopped in again at the end of his shift. There was little change, or so it appeared to him. Sherlock looked even paler than usual, and so frail. John pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and gently took hold of his old friend’s hand. The skin was so translucent, but his hand was at least warm.  He peered into the face, noting the long eyelashes and the long curls that framed the gaunt face. “Oh Jesus, Sherlock, you’ve really gone and done it this time, haven’t you?  This isn’t fair you know; you should be out there solving crimes, because God knows there’s not a decent detective in the lot. Well…maybe Lestrade but…you know what I mean.”  And so John sat by his bedside, keeping up a running conversation and then…

********

“Let’s take a walk, John.” Sherlock’s hand rested on his shoulder. “I’ve been released and I am quite bored here. Not one minute longer!”

“Oh! Well, good then, let’s get going!” John sprang from his chair and noted that Sherlock was fully dressed, complete with his trademark scarf and coat. “We should call Lestrade, see if he has anything.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose for a second. “Nooo, I don’t think we need to bother him. Let’s just you and me take a walk. The park…I think I’d like to go there.”

“Why did you do it, Sherlock?”

“What? Oh...the drugs? I’ve been an addict for a long time, John. Didn’t Mycroft ever tell you? I get bored, you know. Well, of course you know that about me, you’re my blogger, you know me better than most.” A grin crossed his face.

“Better than your own brother, I guess. But...but they said you were cured…”

“Yes, I know. I do know how to play the game, John, or haven’t you figured that out yet?” Sherlock stopped walking and faced him. “John, I did so treasure our time together, you do know that, don’t you? I always appreciated how you treated me. Like I was something, not like I was a freak of nature or anything.”

John grinned and touched his arm. “So come back to Baker Street. Your bedroom is empty, the whole flat seems so empty without you and your clutter. I’ll be your blogger and you can go on solving crimes for Lestrade…”

“No. No, John, it’s too late for that, I’m afraid.” A sad look crossed his gaunt face, and he took John’s hands in his. Why were they so cold, why was John so warm? “Promise me something, John Watson. Promise me that you will never forget me.”

“Sherlock…”

“Please, John, can you make me that promise?”

“So you’re not coming back to Baker Street? You’re not going to continue to solve crimes?”

Sherlock turned to glance at something in front of them. “John, look, I do believe that light is meant for you.” He turned back to face him, squeezing his hands tightly. “Go, it’s waiting for you.”

“You have to come with me, Sherlock, you have to. We can be together again and be like we used to be, arguing, solving crimes, I’ll start blogging again!”

“No, John, it can’t happen. I’m afraid there is no light for me. Now go!”

“Come. With. Me! Sherlock please!”

“John, as much as I love you, I cannot.” A single tear ran down a gaunt cheek. “For while I may be on the side of the angels, you of all people should know damned well that I am not one of them.”  With that, Sherlock hugged John, kissed his forehead, and then turned and walked away, fading into the darkness that awaited him.


	2. Continuum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, no, this can't be happening! Wait...was that only a dream? All of it? Part of it??

John's eyes snapped open and he realized he was sitting bolt upright in bed, he was shaking, and he had tears streaking down his cheeks.  His ears seemed to be ringing with his own voice shouting..no, SCREAMING out Sherlock's name, but Mary was sleeping peacefully beside him.  Limply he slid back down onto the bed, his pillow feeling cool and soothing, but every muscle was tense.  Sherlock.  Sherlock. Unblinkingly he stared at the ceiling, and then gasped because he realized he'd been holding his breath.  Was that just a dream then? What part of it was a dream?  All of it? No, he remembered with a jolt that things hadn't been exactly happy or normal between him and Sherlock since Sherlock's sudden and unexpected return. They had quarreled, yes.  He was pretty sure that at least once Sherlock had used drugs, and Mycroft had tried to step in but...but what? A cold dread slammed into John's mind.  He could clearly hear Sherlock's voice in his mind, the last words to him from the dream, if it truly was a dream “John, as much as I love you, I cannot.”  Meaning he could not go into the light with John, and how desperately John had wanted to grab his hand and drag him along.  And then those even more chilling words “For while I may be on the side of the angels, you of all people should know damned well that I am not one of them.”

Without so much as another thought, John flung back the covers and bolted out of bed, grabbing some clothes and heading into the bathroom. He squinted against the glare of the light. When he caught sight of his face in the mirror, he could actually see the panic he was feeling.  All he could think of was...

"SHERLOCK!"  John had thrown some money at the cabbie, his feet had barely touched the sidewalk as he flung himself at the door of 221B Baker Street, anmd now he was leaping up the steps 2 and 3 at a time. "SHERLOCK!!?"  He burst through the door to the flat and found a bemused looking Sherlock sitting cross-legged in his beat-up old chair, dressed in loungers, a tee shirt and his favorite blue dressing gown. His violin was on his lap, and he was carefully cleaning the neck and the strings.

"John, what brings you here at...what is it...midnight?" Carefully the violin was laid aside, but Sherlock remained seated, his elegantly long-fingered hands clasped limply before him, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair.  "Are you all right? You look quite distraught."

Without thinking, John plopped into "his" old chair, facing Sherlock. He rubbed his face with both hands, sighed, and tried very hard not to just stare at the lanky, curly-haired consulting detective.  "I ummmmm yeah.....I had a rather ummm frightening dream and I have no idea how to even explain why I came over here."  If he wasn't feeling  so shaken, John was sure he would have been grinning sheepishly, but as it was he felt drained, he still felt that horrid sense of dread and sadness that he'd felt upon awakening, and he just wanted to be near Sherlock, to make sure Sherlock really was there, alive and well, and that he had in fact just had a bad dream.

"You took a taxi over here in the middle of the night. You say you had a frightening dream, and if that is the case, then I assume I was the subject of the dream, based on the way you came screaming up the steps.  When you came in you looked both horrified and relieved, so, is there some truth to that adage of looking like one has seen a ghost? Possibly, except however for the fact that I am quite alive, John. So," Sherlock's hands were by now steepled in front of his lips, "I am at a loss, tho pleasantly so, as to why you are here now when I have seen nothing of you since my return.  Your exact words were 'you'll see my face again when Hell freezes over, I am so done with you.'  You are here; has Hell turned to ice?"

John blanched and swallowed hard, trying to get the huge lump out of his throat.  Jesus, he had said a few choice things the night Sherlock had chosen to return, as it were, from the dead. Not only that night, but the two times they had gotten together to talk things out.  John had had to accept that he had seen his friend jump to his death from the roof of St. Bart's Hospital. 2 years had passed, for John 2 very painful and lonely years that had seen him move out of Baker Street and finally move on with his life when he had met Mary Morston at work.  Instead of being relieved the brilliant detective was actually alive, John had instead felt nothing but anger and betrayal--anger that it had been 2 years, betrayal when he found out that there were people who knew the detective was really alive. He remembered saying to Sherlock that night "I don't want to know HOW you did it, Sherlock, I want to know WHY."  But in truth he had been so angry and overwhelemed that the explanation had fallen mostly on deaf ears.  As all of this ran through his mind, he stared at Sherlock, but the younger man's gaunt face revealed nothing of what he might be feeling--his face bore a carefully set neutral expression.

John swallowed hard again.  "Sherlock, I said some really harsh things that night. I was beyond upset, so many emotions were going through my head. 2 years...2 bloody, long years, Sherlock."

"I know, John, and I did apologize and I shall once again. I am sorry."  Sherlock's blue/green/gold eyes locked onto John's blue eyes.  "I only know one way to say it: I am sorry."

"I'm sorry too, I really am.  Stubborn pride kept me away, and the truth is, I have missed you so bloody much!" A wry grin finally played at the corners of John's mouth.  "I've missed you so much it took a nightmare to get me to come over here! No wait, let me re-phrase that.  I had a nightmare that was so realistic, I had to come over here in the middle of the night to make sure you were really here, to make sure what I had dreamed was not reality."

"Satisfied?" Only now did Sherlock's expression change to a look of curiousity.  "You looked so mortified when you came in, I couldn't begin to imagine what you were on about."

"You know what, Sherlock, I am relieved and yes, I am satisfied. But there is one more thing. I have missed you, I have missed you so much!"

A lopsided grin finally crossed Sherlock's face. "I've missed you as well, John. I have indeed missed my blogger! Who knows, maybe I'll earn my wings yet!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this how it ends? At least they are back together!!

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever played out an entire fan fic in yiur mind, and found that you just had to write it? Even if it was just a portion of what went on in your head? This is my first published contribution to the Sherlock fandom.


End file.
